Chapter 17 #2
His smirk was practised, devious enough to suggest he had rarely been told no and had never learned to accept it gracefully.
Auburn strands fell across his brow as his gaze travelled slowly over her frame, outfit, hairdo, lingering with enough arrogance to make her skin prickle.
He pushed the hair from his eyes, his breath washing over her, thick with wine and audacity. Ellaryn fought the instinct to recoil; instead, she held his gaze, expression remaining smooth, empty, composed—a blade sheathed beneath silk.
“So, you kill for the King—do you fulfil any of his other… needs, or are you available?” Bane asked, leaning close enough to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Ellaryn shuddered at the touch.
The question twisted her stomach, and she swallowed the feeling down before answering.
“That depends…” She offered a thin smile, her gaze drifting away as though he had already bored her.
“On?” he murmured, his breath warm against her neck.
“Anyone I get close to tends to wind up dead.” She met his eyes then, her fingers brushing the hilt of her sword. “Are you willing to take that chance?”
“I’ve been known to be rather lucky.” He leaned in, voice lowering. “And you might think twice about waving that sword of yours around. It’s not very ladylike.”
“Then perhaps I should show you my fists instead,” Ellaryn said politely, though steel edged her voice.
“You could try,” Bane mused. “But you’d be wrong to think I can’t handle myself.” His gaze dropped deliberately to the blade tucked into his belt.
Ellaryn raised a single eyebrow.
“Is that a threat, Chancellor Bane?” she asked sweetly.
“No.” His grin widened. “Not a threat—a proposition. I’ve always liked the idea of having a powerful woman under me.”
“Under you?” Ellaryn raised a brow, and he inclined his head.
“Or on top, if that’s what you prefer.” His eyes brightened, but Ellaryn’s stomach rolled violently. “So what do you say?” he pressed, leaning closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “You and me tonight. Perhaps we could seal it with a kiss. Sweeten the deal.”
“Oh, Chancellor Bane,” Ellaryn replied coolly, “the only kissing I tend to do involves a blade… or some other form of weaponry.”
Bane only smirked as her eyes wandered to the sword in her belt.
“Oh, you do tease me, Ruin,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down her arm with deliberate familiarity. “Don’t you ever tire of playing the part?”
The whisper sent a shudder through Ellaryn, but before his hand could travel any further, she caught his wrist and twisted sharply, using his own momentum to drive him back against the pillar.
His arm was wrenched behind him, his shoulder forced against the cold marble as a grunt escaped his throat.
Ellaryn leaned closer, her voice dropping to a quiet, dangerous whisper beside his ear.
“There is no part, Chancellor.”
Her grip tightened.
“Touch me again, and it will be the last thing you do.”
She felt his pulse jump beneath her fingers, rapid and uneven, and could almost hear the frantic thud of his heart against his chest as he struggled to draw a steady breath.
For once, Bane had nothing clever to say.
She let him go with a push, and he stumbled to his right.
“You can’t kill me,” Bane said, taking a step towards her, and now that he was free of her grip, his confidence returned with remarkable speed.
He rolled his shoulder, smoothing the front of his tunic as though the brief loss of control had never happened.
“Not now. Not ever. Not without his approval.”
His gaze drifted towards the King’s throne through the window, where women still lounged around him, before returning to Ellaryn.
“And besides, the King needs me.” He spread his hands with an insufferable smile. “I’m what they call indispensable.”
“Indispensable…” Ellaryn arched a brow. “Like Selcrose was?”
The change in him was immediate.
His smile vanished. Colour crept into his cheeks as his features hardened, whatever composure he had managed to reclaim slipping beneath the weight of her words.
“Tell me? Which one do you think he is?” Her fingers drifted over the Defiers stationed at various points in the castle, and his face turned sour.
He pointed an accusing finger at her.
“You listen here—”
“Is there a problem here?”
Lyon’s voice cut cleanly through the tension—firm, holding weight, every bit a Commander of the Dark Knights.
He stepped between them, placing himself squarely in Bane’s path.
Bane stopped immediately, as though someone had caught him with his hand in the proverbial fire. He straightened his tunic, adjusted his cuffs and forced his expression back into something resembling composure.
Ellaryn folded her arms.
“I don’t know,” she said, her eyes narrowing on Bane. “Is there?”
Bane shook his head quickly.
“Of course not.” He summoned a smile that was far too polished to be genuine. “Ruin and I were merely discussing our respective roles in Cinders.”
Lyon cocked his head.
“Is that right?”
The sarcasm was unmistakable as his gaze flicked between them before finally settling on Bane.
“Well, Ruin’s role is rather straightforward.” He paused thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. “Kill, kill, and what’s the other one?”
Ellaryn’s mouth twitched as Lyon snapped his fingers.
“Oh, yes.” His smile disappeared. “Kill.”
Bane’s jaw tightened as Lyon took a sure step towards him.
“A role that has absolutely nothing to do with you, Chancellor.” His voice remained conversational, which somehow made the warning beneath it all the more threatening. “Unless, of course, you decide to put your hands on her again.”
Bane’s expression faltered. His eyes traced Lyon’s face, shock giving way to disdain, before something less comfortable flickered beneath it—fear.
“I can assure you, this is all a big misunderstanding,” Bane said quickly, attempting to recover his composure while keeping his head held high.
“I’m sure it is,” Lyon said, crossing his arms. “Tell me, Chancellor…” His gaze travelled deliberately over Bane’s immaculate clothing. “Doesn’t someone as indispensable as you have other pressing matters to attend to?”
For a moment, Bane said nothing, as if Lyon’s words were choking him; then, despite his grimace, he inclined his head.
“Of course.” He drawled as his eyes slid towards Ellaryn one final time, the promise of unfinished business hidden beneath his smile. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He turned and disappeared back towards the party. Ellaryn watched him go.
“Charming fellow,” Lyon muttered, turning towards her.
Ellaryn glanced at him, annoyed.
“I had it handled.” She sighed, already slipping back into the crowd.
“I’m sure you did,” Lyon replied, falling into step behind her.
“I mean it, Lyon.” She spun on her heels, forcing him to stop. “I don’t need you defending my honour. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Oh, I know exactly what kind of girl you are,” he said, his smirk returning as his gaze travelled deliberately from her face, down the length of her dress, before settling on the sword at her hip.
“I’m surprised he kept his dick.”
Ellaryn’s lips curled into a dark smile.
“My blade wouldn’t even have known it had cut.”
Lyon let out a low laugh before saying:
“It seems every man in Cinders wishes to be kissed by Death herself.”
“The ash must be driving them mad,” Ellaryn replied with a hollow laugh.
“Or perhaps they’ve simply developed a death wish.” He said, something playful flickered in his eyes as he watched her.
“Then they should be more careful about who they flirt with.”
She held his gaze for a beat, letting the threat linger between them before turning away and continuing through the hall. She passed the ladies dancing in sweeping circles, skirts brushing the marble, while nearby the musicians played with quick fingers and practised hands.
Lyon followed, easily matching her stride.
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s advice.”
He gave a low chuckle, shaking his head as his gaze dropped briefly to the blade resting at her hip.
“And what about my advice?” His voice softened, the teasing edge fading. “Did you take it?”
Ellaryn said nothing.
She simply kept walking, her expression carefully composed as she threaded her way through the crowd.
Lyon let out a low chuckle. “Of course you didn’t.” He said, and she could tell he was shaking his head. Ellaryn ignored him, quickening her pace through the crowd and lost him somewhere between the banquet table and the gathering of the highest-ranking Dark Knights.
The chiming of a glass brought every conversation in the room to an abrupt halt, and one by one, every head turned towards the King.
“Now, how about some entertainment?”
The King’s teeth were stained crimson from his drink as he grinned down at his guests from the ivory throne at the head of the room.
“Little Ruin,” he called, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. “It’s time to play.”
His gaze swept across the room before finding hers.
Ellaryn inclined her head, forcing a smile into place as the crowd parted before her.
“Oh, good.” She let a hint of amusement colour her voice as she stepped forward. “I was beginning to get bored.”
A low laugh rumbled from the King as he raised his glass in response, something almost resembling pride flickering briefly behind his eyes.
“That’s my girl.” He leaned back in his chair before flicking his fingers. “Bring them out.”
The crowd seemed to hold its breath as the first whimpers began to seep into the room.
A man and a woman were dragged into view, bound at the wrists and gripped tightly by the Defiers.
Their faces betrayed little as they stumbled and resisted against the men who had once defied the King themselves.
Ellaryn watched them being hauled towards the centre of the room and wondered, briefly, how the King decided who was worthy of death and who was worthy of joining his twisted army.
But she already knew.
With the eyes of the court upon them, liquor flowing freely and the evening demanding its entertainment, there was only one outcome.
This was an execution.